


Stockholm Syndrome

by sunrayriver



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abduction, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Fear, M/M, Murder, Ridiculous, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-30 11:06:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6421507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrayriver/pseuds/sunrayriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was filled with panic and enough adrenaline to make my heart feel like it was about to burst out of my chest, but I knew I had to try to calm myself. I just needed to accept that this was really happening. I would play out these kinds of scenarios in my mind, I watched enough of those crime TV shows, and my paranoid self even read a few articles about abductions. If anyone could survive this, it was me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foniasophobia

When you think of people's biggest fears the most common things to pop in your head are the dark, heights, spiders, or flying. Fears so run of the mill there's no reason to be ashamed of them, because chances are there are at least a few thousand other people who share it. I let people think I fall into the spider category, but it's not entirely false. Only something born of evil needs that many legs. And I will admittedly shriek like a three-year-old girl if I spot one big enough too close to me. I'm afraid of spiders, but spiders aren't my biggest fear.

I guess the fear of dying would be closer to the truth. But that's not decisively it. The uncertainty of when death will eventually take us all doesn't plague me. I'm not afraid to die exactly. It's more of the how it will happen. Who will make it happen. I'm afraid of being abducted by a serial killer to be slowly and painfully murdered. It's a phobia I'm completely embarrassed about having. It's stupid. I know it is. There's only a .00039% chance of ending up the victim of a serial killer —not that I've researched it or anything. I've got a better chance choking to death on a tortilla chip, but that still does mean there _is_ a chance.

I'm paranoid. I know that. But at least being able to acknowledging my crazy means I'm still a little sane. This fear might be a little debilitating, but I'm not exactly locked away hiding. I live on my own. I have a job I have to leave my apartment for. I socialize with my coworkers every great now and then. I have a girlfriend I'm not sure I deserve. Parents that I'm dead to. You know, the usual. I don't know, I think it's pretty much the mundane average life of a financially struggling twenty-year-old 'man child'. I just happen to have an extra issue. A fear that lingers in the background unnoticed until certain situations arise.

I'm just aware of risks and take better notice of my surroundings than most. I make sure my apartment is locked up tight. I carry a small switchblade. I avoid going anywhere secluded by myself if it can be helped. My girlfriend knows I'm anxious about deserted places, that I'm wary around new people trying to befriend me. She just thinks I'm nervous by nature. She'll tease me, call me a pussy and smack me on my shoulder. If she only knew the actual reason I got nervous by seemingly empty places is that they could be hiding some cutthroat crazy person. If she only knew the reason I'm uneasy befriending people at the start is because the first thought that pops into my head is that they could be a killer just trying to gain my trust. It was a miracle that I even had her as a girlfriend in the first place. I guess I was lucky that she has that take charge personality and wouldn't take my dismissive and timid demeanor as a rejection when we first met.

And I suppose I'm lucky too that she doesn't seem to care too much to prod about how I'm feeling or why. Thinking on it, our relationship leans more toward the physical connection. We've been together six months and haven't shared 'I love you's, but I trust her I guess. Enough to be intimate and alone. Enough to know she wouldn't legit kill me despite how I know I drive her crazy sometimes. But I could never tell her about this fear. I don't think I could ever tell anyone. I like to tell myself it's just because I'm embarrassed by it. But while that is part of the excuse for keeping this madness all to myself, the more real reason is if I let this knowledge out, who knows who else could find out. Something so simple as being harmlessly teased over this fear waiting in line to get movie tickets could lead to someone overhearing. Someone who could be a killer. A killer who would find the dumb kid with the murder phobia as the perfect next victim to stalk, take, and slaughter.

I don't exactly know what the big trigger was. You'd think it would have to stem from my fucked up violent childhood; sure I was scared then, but not of this. And even before things got bad at home I was already that weird little five-year-old that got into the love of gore and the gruesome and horror flicks, and as I got older the love of music with themes of violence and death. It was all cool. It still is cool. But I don't know when this happened. When I became afraid. When the pretend carnage I loved turned into something real that could happen to me. I know my nightly habit of watching violent crime shows before I went to bed only fueled my paranoid imagination, giving me more horrifying what-ifs that could happen, but I'm addicted to those kind of shows. I do still like gore after all, and the chase of the killer was captivating. Plus you could see what the victims did right and wrong. You can plan out what you could do differently to stay alive, to get away.

It was when I went to bed alone or even with my girl that I would get the most nervous. I'd make sure the place was locked down like Fort Knox. I'd lay awake and listen for any noise that could possibly be the sound of someone breaking in. It wasn't every night, but it was most that I'd stay that way, laying there with my eyes closed listening, worrying, and fearing until I finally passed out.

I know I'm crazy, at least to a degree. Being murdered isn't exactly an everyday occurrence that someone should dwell on and fear when they're going to sleep at night or waiting alone at a bus stop. Normal people don't ever imagine this sort of thing happening to them. But this does happen to people. Someone has to be that .00039%. I did my best to not worry. I did my best to stay out of obvious risky situations. But despite my best efforts I think there's a chance I could become a statistic. He's probably not a serial killer. He might not even kill me at all. But he does have a gun, and he took me with him.


	2. Robbery Gone Wrong

I was always so worried about break-ins or being jumped outside of an alley or even falling into the trap of a psycho throwing nails out on the road in the middle of nowhere to get their victims stranded. I was careful. I was always so careful, but I never really thought about this. Just being caught in a random criminal act. Maybe I was asking for this kind of luck letting paranoia get to me. Maybe it was a skewed kind of karma that let me happen to be in the 7-Eleven at that exact moment.

If only I had pushed my girlfriend more to let me spend the night at her place. If only my car wasn't a piece of shit I couldn't afford to fix that month, I could have been in and out of this place way earlier driving not walking. If only I had went straight home. I never liked walking the streets at night, it was one of those risky situations. If I had to I made the travel time as quick as possible. I should have went home. I could have avoided this. But hindsight is 20/20. I didn't think I had anything to worry about. The city street was pretty well lit, the store was brighter and on the way. What wouldn't be safe about it? I just got laid and wanted to stop in to pick up a snack. Old habits die hard. Old habits may have led to the death of me.

I had been walking out of an aisle toward the register when I first saw him burst through the door: in all black, wearing a ski mask. I knew a robbery was about to go down. I froze, loosing my grip on the bag of Doritos and a bottle of Coke just a split second ago I thought I was simply about to purchase and be on my way. My heart had already started hammering, but it did even more so when he pulled out a gun he was concealing by the front of his zipped open jacket. He was at the register in an instant, gun aimed at the trembling young woman manning it. He looked back at me then for a brief second. He might have had a mask on but I could see the warning in his eyes. I did the only safe and logical thing I could do in that situation; I raised my arms up in a little surrender. A silent "Please don't shoot me. I'm not going to do to anything".

The worker was loading up the backpack the robber shoved at her with all the cash from the register, and I was afraid. But I can at least uprightly say I wasn't concerned with me, I was afraid for that now traumatized girl with the gun pointed at her trying to not hyperventilate as she shakily did as the man commanded. I was in this daze of disbelief that this was really happening. I know I lived with fears of very violent acts happening to me, some definitely involving guns; but this was surreal, actually seeing someone with a gun in front me threatening to use it. So I just watched on helplessly, literally just four steps away from the scene. It was happening so fast, yet it somehow felt like time was moving in slow motion. I was scared, sure, but I had my bearings. I could reason that the guy just wanted the money. The girl was complying, so he'd get it and he'd leave. He'd be happy and gone. The girl would be fine. I would be fine. Everything would be fine.

I had never been so wrong.

Yes, the robber got his money, the bag zipped up secure. Hell, I even heard the man say a smooth "thank you very much, cutie, you've been a big help" to the girl. And yes, it even looked like the robber was just about to walk away, but at that same second someone else walked into the store. It wasn't just any someone. It was a police officer, and by the looks of how the old man just nonchalantly strolled on in, he obviously only came in to buy something. The officer noticed the robber at the counter within a second, though, and immediately reached for his gun in his holster. That tiny sliver of relief that sparked inside me when I thought this ordeal was ending was shot dead with the sudden presence of the cop reaching for his weapon. I was sure I was about to witness a gun fight. Fear spiked through my chest. I could get caught in the cross fire. I could get shot. I could get killed.

It seemed like the robber had the same fear as he quickly dashed behind me. He was a couple inches taller, and he put me in a strong chokehold, pressing the barrel of the gun to the side of my head.

"Don't do anything stupid, asshole! I'll fuckin' blow his brains out!"

I couldn't breathe. I was a human shield and had a gun to my head. I was going to die. I wasn't going to be given the chance to make something of my life. To stop being a loser. To stop being some mundane fuck.

There was talking —the calm firm tone of the officer and the loud angry one of the robber— but I was far too gone in a petrified daze to discern what was actually being said. When I felt the gun being pressed firmer against my temple though, that actually snapped me out of it. The policeman was slowly setting his gun and radio on the floor and sidestepping away from the door. The robber kept me in the headlock and started to drag me with him toward the door, always keeping me held facing the officer to act as that human wall of protection. The man stopped us at the policeman's gun first, and he pulled himself away from me for a fleeting second to grab it and tuck it into the front of his pants, his own gun ever aimed at me, squashing any thought to try to get away from him. He stomped on the cop's small radio effectively breaking it, and he got me back into that headlock, dragging me the remaining steps to the door.

He took the lead, heading out first backwards. We were half way through it, and then sweet, sweet hope started to bubble through me. The robber could just runaway home free at this point. The cop didn't have his gun, couldn't radio for help where he was, so hurting or killing or keeping me would be pointless. The lunatic with the gun just came here for the money. He had it now and could get away. I really thought I was going to be okay, but then I heard the man's frustrated mutter.

"Shit, another one."

I couldn't help but crane my neck to look outside to see the problem. The policeman's car was right outside and another cop was in there, and that cop was just now noticing that something horribly wrong was going on.

"You fuckin' run with me when I say," the robber hissed in my ear, "or you'll have a bullet in your head faster than you can blink."

I couldn't breathe again. This psycho was planning on taking me with him. I just went from human shield to real hostage. I was panicked and rightfully so. This already scary robbery situation at the start had quickly escalated to my biggest fear. Maybe I wasn't dealing with a killer, but it was still a man with a gun and very violent threats. Maybe he really was only a robber, but to become a killer you have to start somewhere. Maybe he never used that gun on anyone before, but I could end up the first.

"Run" was sharply whispered in my ear, and run with my captor was all I could do. Running out of sheer fright as to what would happen if I didn't comply with the criminal's demands. I was no longer being held around the neck, but the robber had a painfully tight grip on my arm. I was being led to a dark two-door car, and within seconds I was being forced into the passenger seat. As the robber ran around to the other side, he fired his gun twice, precisely blowing out two of the police car's tires. He was behind the wheel in an instant, and I could only sit in a horrified panic as the man promptly got the car started and peeled out of the parking lot.

The robber didn't say anything, just drove one-handed while his other was busy keeping his gun aimed in my direction. I was filled with panic and fear and enough adrenaline to make my heart feel like it was about to burst out of my chest, but I knew I had to try to calm myself. I just needed to accept that this was really happening. I would play out these kinds of scenarios in my mind, I watched enough of those crime TV shows that kind of gave you a guide on what to do, and my paranoid self even read a few articles about abductions. If anyone could survive this, it was me.

Keeping your composure was the first step. I knew that, and the fact that I knew that actually kind of calmed me just a bit. I concentrated on slowing my ragged breathing. In through the nose, out slow through the mouth.  Stay calm, think positive, be alert, see if there was any safe way to escape.  I could do this.  I could get through this.

And so I sat there in that horrible quiet, my breathing pretty much managed but my mind racing.  I kept my head down like I was just looking down at my fidgeting fingers in my lap, but I let my eyes look out my side window.   I had my cell phone in my pocket unknown to my captor for now, and if somehow there was a chance I could call for help it was important I knew where I was. I had my switchblade too, but that wasn't going to be much use to me now with a gun pointed at me. 

The man's silence made the situation somehow more unnerving.  He wasn't giving me any clue on how to act here.  I wasn't sure if I should try to talk to him or not.  I didn't know if it would help encourage him to let me go or get me shot.   I took a resolute breath.  I was going to take a chance and speak up, and hope to god it wouldn't end up too horrible a mistake.  I took another deep quiet breath trying to figure out the safest thing to say.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked carefully, still not looking at him.

"I'd keep your mouth shut, pretty boy, if you wanna make it outta this alive."

That barked back response sure as fuck made me keep my mouth shut.  It was just back to the unnerving silence then.  I watched the scenery pass by in the window.  The guy wasn't speeding by any means, but everything just seemed like a blur now.  I couldn't tell how fast or slow time was moving.  I'm pretty sure I slipped into another wave of shock.

Out of the blue it seemed, the car came to a stop, and exactly how long this little trip of hell took was lost to me.  It could have been five minutes or five hours as far as I could discern.  But I could recognize that the car was parked on the side of the street of a relatively quiet downtown of the close neighboring city to my own.  In those still seconds I chanced a glance at my captor for the first time since he peeled us out of the parking lot. The man wasn't wearing the ski mask anymore, and he couldn't have been that much older than I was.  His pale skin was tinted yellow slightly by the glow of the street lamps outside, and dark brown jaw length hair messily framed his face. And a handsome face it might have been, but as far as I was concerned, it was a face that belonged to an insane killer. A face I saw now. A face he knew I could describe to the cops if he let me go. I swallowed down roughly.  This was not a good sign. This guy wasn't going to let me live.

"We're getting out here. You're going to wait until I come around and let you out the car myself, got it? And if you try to run I'm going to shoot you. You understand?"

I nodded. Being compliant was still my best option. The man stuffed his mask and the policeman's gun into his bag of stolen money before he shouldered it and rush around to my side of the car. His own gun was obviously held inside the pocket of his black jacket, and soon his free gloved hand whipped my door open and yanked me out to the sidewalk.

"We're going for a little walk. You stay right next to me, got it? Keep your mouth shut and act normal."

And so we walked, each step I took filled with dread and willed on by fear.  My fucking insides were falling apart with the emotion, but I did my best to keep my appearance cool and collected as ordered. I kept my hands stuffed into the pockets of my tattered blue jacket to feign a relax attitude.  My right hand was right up against my phone, and it was killing me that I still didn't have the opportunity to use it without him knowing. It was really late, but we came across where people were still scattered about here and there outside of bars smoking cigarettes.  My mind fucking screamed — _pleaded—_ that someone would feel something was off as we walked passed, but I supposed the two of us looked quite normal. Just another couple of pals walking home from a night at the bar. People didn't spare us a second glance.  And I just couldn't bring myself to try to make a run for it or yell out for help.  Not when the psycho had a gun. It wouldn't be just my life at stake, he could just as easily shoot up the few innocent people outside too. My dread only kept spiking.  I was out in the goddamn open, but still fucking trapped.  No one was going to help me. And I was probably just being led somewhere dark and abandoned to be shot where no one could see or hear. Where no one would find my body for days or weeks.

I was led through block after block until at last my captor had us walk up the parking lot of a 'Motel 6' and then right on up to door seventeen. He produced a key out of his pocket and once the door was unlocked, he shoved me inside the dark room. I stood frozen, even when the lights were flipped on. I just stood, awkward, terrified, my eyes just blankly roaming over the small motel room as I heard the door being shut and locked behind me. It was a small, clean, simple room. One queen bed, a nightstand, a television atop a dresser, a small cushioned chair before a desk, and a door that must have led into the bathroom. The man moved further inside, dropping his bag on the desk and pulling the chair back.

"Come here. Sit down."

I wasn't going to outrun a bullet trying to make a dash to the door behind me so I sat, hands clasped nervously in my lap and staring down at my feet.

"Sorry to make you walk all that way, but I can't exactly bring a stolen car to right where I'm staying, now can I?" The captor chuckled, pulling off his black gloves and shrugging off his jacket. 

I stayed silent, but I looked up, watching him straighten out his black shirt as he took a seat on the end of the bed.

"You got a wallet on you, kid?" he asked, twirling the gun in his hands idly.

I nodded.

"Toss it to me."

I lifted out of the chair a bit to reach a shaking hand into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out my worn black leather wallet. I tossed it as ordered, and he caught it successfully with one hand. He immediately pulled out the few dollars inside, stuffing them in his own pocket.

"So, Daniel Cervone, is it?" The man was looking over my driver's license within. He pronounced my last name wrong, but I wasn't about to correct him. "Got any family or friends waiting for you at home, Dan?"

"No," I answered quietly, and I immediately regretted blurting out the truth.  I needed to give this guy a reason to let me go, and admitting I had no one missing me didn't help my case.

"Alright, good." The man set the wallet down and went about just fiddling with his gun again.  I couldn't help but lock my eyes on it nervously. "Okay Danny, here's the deal. You're just going to stay with me a little while just on the off chance I get caught before I blow outta this area. Can't have myself being caught without any leverage, and unfortunately for you, you're it. So all you have to do is listen to me, and then I don't have to fill that pretty little head of yours with lead. Think you can do that?"

I nodded hastily.

"Great," the man smiled coolly, and all I could do was grimace.

He got up from the bed, walking around the other side where he lifted up a large duffle bag from the floor. He plunked it down on the mattress and after unzipping it, started to dig through it. It took a moment, but at last he pulled his hand out, dangling a set of red furry handcuffs off his finger.

"I'd tell you about the last time I used these little babies," he smirked, "but I don't wanna scare you that much." He walked up to me with the gun and cuffs in hand, and I fucking gulped.  Nothing good was about to happen. "Take your jacket off."

I shakily did as I was told, quickly shedding the jacket so I was down to just an old light blue t-shirt I was wearing underneath. I placed the balled up jacket in my lap only to have the man yank it off and toss it to the floor.  I was separated from my phone now.  The gun was set down on the desk, and the man then grabbed a firm hold of my right arm slapping one of the cuffs securely around my wrist. A second of a fighting spirit entered me: he didn't have the gun in his hand, and I still had the knife in my pocket.  If there was a time to fight, this was it.  But I was a fucking coward or maybe just too realistically aware of my chances.  He was still bigger than me and his gun was very close at hand for him; and maybe, just maybe he'd be true to his word and let me go later if I cooperated.  Cooperating was definitely the safer option of getting out of this alive, and it quickly became the only option once again as he pulled my arm back behind the arm of the chair and the other end of the handcuff was secured to the chair's back leg.  My left arm was quickly cuffed up the same way on the other side.

"Well, can you get out of it? Let's see."

I tugged, putting up a little struggle against my bonds, but there was no way in hell I could ever figure out any kind of escape. The more I pulled, the more the fuzzy coated metal dug into my wrists.

"Alright then, I hope you're comfortable," the man smirked and ruffled a hand through my hair. The gesture made me sick, and I couldn't help but jerk away from him and squeeze me eyes shut. Being touched by an abductor like that or any way was never a good sign. "Well, I do imagine this must be...a less than happy situation for you," I kept my eyes shut as the man spoke, barely having registered how the man pulled his hand away. "But do try to relax, Danny." A couple soft slaps to my face made me open my eyes to see my captor smiling crookedly. "Be a good boy and there's nothing to worry about."

The man grabbed his gun off the desk before walking over to the television and turning it on. It was already tuned in on a news station. I didn't intend on paying attention, but the words "7-Eleven" and "hostage" quickly perked my ears.

"Hey, look at this, buddy. We're on TV." The man pushed me in a better position so I could see the television as well. They were playing a couple of short security camera clips on a slowmotion loop on the left side of the screen as the news anchor talked about the robbery. One clip showed the masked robber holding up the store clerk. The other was of me entering the store with the tag line "Presumed Hostage". I just watched on where I was cuffed to a motel chair. This situation had just gotten more surreal. The police department's number for their tip hotline came up on the bottom of the screen, and I vainly hoped there was a coworker or casual friend with insomnia tonight that was up watching this and recognized me.  They could let the cops know, get a better picture of me circulating. Maybe one of those people we past on the sidewalk this evening would recognize me then. Maybe it would get the police headed in the right direction toward finding me. And in a perfect hope —finding me alive.

"Don't you love it that they show this shit for the fucking criminals to see," the man chuckled and sat down on the bed. "I mean, now I know that the cops don't have any fucking leads on me, and nobody knows who the hell you are yet. As much as tonight has turned into a fiasco, I'm pretty much made in the shade, don't you think?" The man grinned. "I just need to figure out what I'm going to do with you exactly." The man got up and placed his gun down on the nightstand and moved his things off the bed before pulling the top duvet off and walking over to me.

I bit down on my lip. I could picture that blanket being used as my body bag far too easily. I held my breath when the man got close, but all he did was wrap the blanket around me like he was tucking me in to bed.

"I'll figure you out in the morning. I assume I can trust you not to try to escape in the middle of the night. And if you'd like to continue to not have your pretty little mouth gagged, or better yet a bullet in your head, you better keep quiet. You've been excellent so far, Danny, so keep it that way."

"Y-yes, sir."

"I hate it when people call me _sir_ , Daniel." The man made a disgusted face, and I filled with even more fear, thinking that maybe even something this little might indeed set this lunatic off to shoot me. But the man just looked off, thoughtful. "You can call me, hmm...Archer." The man winked and ruffled my hair again. "Get some sleep, pretty boy."

Sleep? Sleep while I was being held captive in a motel room by a gun wielding criminal? No. No sleep would come, I was sure of that. This Archer, whether that was his real name or not, was going to kill me. The man just needed to think of how to dispose of my body. That was the only outcome I could see right now. When the television and lights were turned off, and when I eventually heard Archer's occasional soft snores fill the dark silence I was engulfed in, I hung my head and let the tears fall as quietly as I could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/feedback are much appreciated :)


	3. Road Trip

I started to wake up with a small groan, my head was tilted uncomfortably forward, my chin resting on my chest. I was achy all over and had such a crick in my neck. I lifted my head, vaguely wondering why I was in a sitting position and lazily opened my eyes. I was filled with the sight of the motel room and felt my heart sink with dread. The nightmare of last night had been real after all. I gave my arms a tug only to find that I was still very much handcuffed to the chair I was in. My eyes glanced over to the bed, but I didn't see the my abductor lying there. I frantically looked about the room. I didn't see Archer anywhere. Maybe he decided to just leave me here while he skipped out of town, but that hope was dashed when the bathroom door suddenly opened and out walked the man, hair dripping wet with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Oh Danny, you're awake," Archer grinned, squatting down at his duffle bag on the floor and digging out some clothes. He dumped the clothes on the bed and just dropped his towel shamelessly to the floor as he started to dress. I quickly averted my eyes to the floor. "So I was thinking in the shower, and I'm afraid I can't just let you go, buddy. I mean, it'd be a stupid thing to do on my part. You know what I look like after all, and I can't have you running off to the cops."

"I- I won't tell anyone, please."

"Aw Danny," I looked back up to a sad smiling Archer, now dressed pretty nicely, those same black jeans as last night but now instead paired with a white button up shirt and black tie. "They all say they won't tell, don't they? And maybe they mean it when they say it, but," Archer sighed, "they always end up spilling to the cops. Someone will eventually recognize you, Dan-O, and they'll make you talk. Coax you with some crap about how you don't have to be afraid and I can't hurt you anymore and shit. Well, I'm not going to let that happen."

"No. I swear I won't," I pleaded, dread and fear taking over every inch of my body. You weren't supposed to beg, but I didn't know what else I could say to talk my way out of the inevitable. "If they find me, I'll... I'll lie, I swear. I'll have them out looking for... for some blonde guy with a scar down his face. Please. I promise. Please let me go." In my gut I was sure this begging was all futile, but god, I had to try.

"That's too kind of you, sugar," Archer patted my cheek gently, "But I'm afraid I just don't know you well enough to know if you'll keep your word or not, you know? So I'm afraid just turning you lose isn't an option I have."

"No," I shook my head frantically. My heart pounded, and my pathetic pleading eyes went glassy with tears. "Please, I swear. Please don't kill me. Please."

"Calm down, would you." Archer sighed and pulled the blanket off me, spreading it back on the bed. "Who said anything about killing you?" He grabbed his gun and a set of keys before walking behind my chair.

I felt him undoing the handcuffs. "W-what are you going to do with me?"

"You're coming with me. I have plans for you." Archer was back at his bag, stuffing the cuffs back in.

"But... But..."

"I hardly think you're in any kind of position to argue with me, sugar," Archer took a seat on the bed, casually pointing the gun at me. "Go ahead and get in the bathroom. You must have to take a piss. Don't lock the door."

I cautiously got up from the chair and made my way into the bathroom. Once I had the door shut behind me, I leaned back against it heavily, bringing shaking hands up to cover my face. I didn't want to know what plans Archer had for me. I didn't want to think about it, because my overactive imagination would only picture the most gruesome of scenarios for myself. I moved to the toilet bowl, feeling rushed to finished using the bathroom as quickly as possible, fearing that Archer might barge in angry if I took too long.

There was a small frosted window situated high on the wall over the toilet that I couldn't help but stare at longingly. If I were to just climb on the back of the toilet, I was sure the window was just big enough for me to pull myself through. My heart raced as my mind quickly toyed with the idea of attempting escape. I overthought it last time thinking I could escape with the knife.  I didn't let myself debate over the decision.  It was just a rapid instinct-to-survive impulse.  I was going to go for it. Archer could catch me and kill me, yes. But as far as I was concerned the man was just going to kill me eventually anyway. I had to try something to get away. It was a death wish to pass up this opportunity. I turned the faucet on in hopes of creating a sort of muffling noise, and then as quietly as I could, I turned the small lever on the doorknob to lock the door. Pushing the image out of my mind of Archer riddling the door with a barrage of bullets that I wouldn't be able to dodge, I carefully climbed atop the back of the toilet to come face-to-face with the opaque glass. It was a two paneled window where the two panes of glass were side by side, and one pane could be unlocked and slid to the side for it to be opened. I twisted the small lock and curled my fingers over the long narrow handle to slide the window open, but the damn thing wouldn't budge.

"Hey, I thought I told you not to lock the door. Hurry it up and get out of there."

My heart stopped at first when I heard Archer's voice, then it raced erratically as he kept struggling with the handle. "S-sorry. Just a minute," I called out weakly. I was running on desperation and fear induced adrenaline, and perhaps it was that combination that somehow gave me that little boost of strength I needed to get the window un-jammed. It was open, and it was wide enough. I wasted no time gripping on the outside of the sill and hauling myself up. My head and shoulders through, I only got a glimpse of the narrow empty back lot of the motel when I heard the bathroom door slam open. I pulled more of myself out the window quicker in a panic, ready to just let myself fall headfirst to the asphalt below. I was so close. So fucking close.

But not quite.

"No!" The scream was loud and desperate from my lips when I felt the vice-like grip of Archer's hand around my ankle. With just one powerful yank, I was pulled back inside the bathroom, falling down hard to the tiled floor. Archer stood over me, pointing the gun at my chest, and I could only squeeze my eyes shut, knowing the inevitable was about to happen. I was going to die.

"You've got balls. I'll give you that. Now get up, huh. I'm not gonna shoot you."

I got to my feet cautiously and kept my eyes trained on the floor. Afraid to look the man in the face. Afraid to look at the gun. Afraid Archer was lying and was going to shoot me between the eyes.

"Try to pull that stunt again, though, and you won't find me so kind. Come on," Archer grabbed a fistful of the front of my shirt, pulling me out of the bathroom. "Get your coat on. We're leaving."

~

Once again I found myself sitting terrified in a passenger seat of probably another stolen car. I was sure this time around I really was being brought to my execution ground. I didn't know what was worse: the torture my mind was going through knowing my brutal murder could just be minutes away and there was nothing I could do to stop it, or actually dying.

"So, you got a car?"

"Yes," I answered quietly, blankly staring out the window at the familiar passing scenery. Archer had driven us back to my town. "But it doesn't start."

"Sucks. You live by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Anybody gonna notice you're gone?"

"Um, my girlfriend," I answered, though I honestly didn't know how many days it would take her to notice.  "I guess my boss and my landlord eventually."

"That all? Not even mommy and daddy?"

I felt pangs of sadness and anger shoot through me with that question, but I was hopefully going to use my truthful answer to my advantage.  Make yourself human in your captor's eyes.  Make them sympathize with you. "I... I didn't really turn out how mommy and stepdaddy wanted.  They haven't noticed me in a really long time."

"Well, look at that," Archer chuckled, "we've got something in common.  Asshole parents."

Something in common.  That was actually good fucking news. I could attempt to form a bond with him.  Make him see himself in me.  Make him like me.  Make him hesitant to fucking kill me. "I'm sorry then," I chose my words carefully and kept my voice even. "I hope your dad wasn't as bad as my imposter one."

"Aw Danny," another chuckle danced from Archer's lips, "you don't have to pretend to care. I said I wasn't killing you, didn't I?"

I kept my eyes on the road as I spoke and made sure my voice didn't waver.  He needed to think I was genuine about empathizing with him.  "I care if anyone else had to grow up like I did."

"Oh?" He spoke mockingly.  He clearly didn't believe me. "And how was that, pretty boy?"

"Never knowing when I was gonna get the shit beaten outta me in my own house and having a mom that defended the drunken fuck who did it." I could feel his gaze on me, but I avoided looking at him and just wrapped my arms around myself to look pathetic.  What I said was true; I didn't have to pretend that part.

"Oh." There it was, the tone of his voice.  He felt sorry for me.  At least in this moment I made him see me as a human being and not just a pawn of his.  Baby steps to staying alive.  I could do this.

The rest of the drive was silent, uncomfortable, terrifying. And it remained that way until Archer pulled the car into a parking lot that I couldn't fucking believe.  It was my goddamn apartment building.

"Well, this is it, isn't it?" Archer questioned, whipping out my wallet still in his possession and checking the address on my license. "Gimme your key."

I dug into my coat pocket and handed Archer over the clip key chain with a few keys attached.  I didn't know what to think.  "What are we doing here?" I couldn't help but blurt out.

"We're making a quick stop out of the goodness of my heart," Archer said, and then he forced me to lead the way to my place.

Three flights up the stairwell, first door on the right. "This is it," I said quietly, stopping before it.

Archer let us into the tiny apartment and looked around with a grimace. "I'd say nice place, but it looks pretty much like a shit hole. No offense. So, you got a backpack or something of your own?"

I nodded.

"Well then, let's go get it and get you packed."

"W-what?"

"I told you before that I'm taking you with me," Archer pulled his gun out of his pocket, casually holding it at his side. "I was hoping you'd at least be a little thankful, Frank. I mean, this is an inconvenience, you know. I go out of my way so you can pack a few things. Well, and also so I don't have to deal with you smelling with just one set of clothes." Archer scrunched his nose.

"Please. Can't you just leave me here?" I was home. And even though it was a crappy little shit hole like Archer said, it didn't change the fact that it was home. My sanctuary from the rest of the world. I just wanted this nightmare to be over. "Please. I swear I won't tell anyone. I swear. Please."

"Danny come on, the only time for begging is in the bedroom," Archer winked, chuckling at his own joke before his demeanor turned serious. His eyes locked with mine, and his gun aimed precisely at me. "You're either coming with me, or I'm pulling the trigger. Now, I don't really  _want_ to kill you, but it's up to you what happens here. So what would you rather do?"

"I- I'll go with you," I said shakily.

He grinned, lowering his aim but bringing it right back up after my phone started ringing in my pocket. "Go ahead and check it," he nodded. "Tell me who it is."

I pulled the cell from my pocket and glanced down at the contact picture on the screen and frowned. "It's my girlfriend."

"Hm," he tapped his chin in thought, a slight smirk forming on his face. "Answer it."

I didn't want to. I was afraid he'd try to make me drag her into this somehow, but I answered anyway. He did have the gun pointed at me. If I had to end up refusing to say something to save her and got shot for it then so be it.

"Hey babe," I kept my voice normal. As normal as I could with my gun-toting captor leaning in close to listen in on the call.

"Daniel. How you doin' sweetie?"

"I'm good."

"Great great, um look I hate to do this right now, and I know you were just here last night, and I meant to tell you this then, but your face is just too stinkin' cute, you know? And we ended up having some fun instead, and I certainly don't regret that, you're awesome, but sweetie..." She drawled in a remorseful tone, "I think we need to, you know, call us quits."

"What..?" I was flabbergasted.  Was this really my _real_ _life_  right now? Was I really getting dumped by my girl while I was in the middle of being abducted. "Kris..." Her name got stuck in my throat. I wasn't so much sad as I was shocked.  "You're breaking up with me?" It came out indignant. 

I was mad now.  Her voice starting to droning on in a false apologetic tone, but I wasn't hearing the words.  Hell, I'm pretty sure Mr. Fucking Kidnap was stifling a laugh beside me, but even that wasn't phasing me really. I was too angry feeling used.  I know our relationship wasn't too deep, but still. She had me go to her place last night so she could dump me, but ended up using me for one last good fuck and sent me on my way when I practically begged to spend the night, then to end up dumping me over the phone the next day.  She was the damn reason I was on the streets last night.  The reason I ended up in the store the time I did.  The fucking reason I got caught up in this goddamn fucking mess with a psycho with a gun.  Sure maybe you could argue she just played a roundabout factor, but not where my logic stood.  This bitch I cared about used me, and set me up to be fucking killed.

"Fuck you," I said harshly into the phone.  I think she was still talking but I ended the call, and when I did Archer burst out laughing.

His loud laughter kind of brought me back to Earth.  Woke me up from my hurt over Kris and made me remember that yeah, my current situation required all my attention.  Now was not the time for hurt feelings, now was the time to be appropriately scared and be smart about what you say around the man with the gun.

"Wellll," Archer's laughter petered off, and he plucked my phone out of my hand. "Sorry there lover boy. But that actually worked out pretty well.  I was gonna have you break up with her; strike a potential 'missing person reporter' off your list." He threw his arm around my shoulders making me stiffen uncomfortably when it seemed like he was trying to give comfort like a chummy friend.

"You know what though," he went on, giving me a 'friendly' knock to the shoulder with the barrel of the gun, "it sounded like she was totally beneath you, you know.  Better off without her, sugar. So how about we get that bag packed, and get this show on the road, huh?"

"You really could just leave me, you know. I promise I–" I had to try just one more time to reason with him, but he cut me off, slowly waving the gun in my face.

"Are you changing your mind, Danny? You come with me or I shoot, remember?"

"I... No," I shook my head.

"Let me hear you say what you want," his eyes turned cold, and he trailed the gun barrel in this twisted gentle way down the side of my face. It shook me back into a terrified daze.

"I want to go with you," I managed to choke the words out.

"Good boy," Archer grinned, lowering his aim to the floor. "Now don't worry so much, sugar. This'll be like an awesome road trip, you'll see."

~

That 'awesome road trip' was moving on to day four I think. Archer had driven us through maybe three states, and the further I got taken away from home, the more worried I got. I didn't know how long he was planning to keep me. All these days went by, and I still didn't know what he wanted with me.  I felt like a pet. Well, a pet prisoner. Archer practically had me on a leash, except my leash was a gun and threats of its use on me or other innocent people around us.  It made sure I never had a safe opportunity to try to get away. Plus he had tossed my phone and discovered my switchblade; I had nothing to help me.

I had no choice but to only shuffle along with him mutely when he made stops: for bathrooms, food, clothes —oddly women's stuff and wigs. And what worried me about that was how he held those clothes up to me approvingly before buying or stealing them. My best hope there was letting myself believe I was the same height as a girlfriend or sister or something.

We slept in the car that first night, me in the trunk. Then we stayed at two different motels, and Archer had at least been kind enough to get rooms with two beds and let me have one arm free, only making one of my wrists uncomfortably cuffed to it.

I guess in the grand scheme of things four days of being held captive wasn't really that long, but already this insane situation kind of transitioned from surreal to normal for me. I was still scared of course, but I guess I came to terms. This was my life now. Held captive by a psycho, but sadly I was pretty sure this new warped life wouldn't last too long for the obvious grim reason. My impending murder had to be coming soon.

So there I was, sure Archer was going to kill me eventually, but then he was oddly nice too.  It was like he was double-sided. He pointed that gun at me more times than I could count, and he'd give orders with icy death threats. But then in a split moment he'd be joking and chummy. And I guess the fact that he kept me fed, let him sleep in a bed, and didn't hurt me physically at all counted toward his skewed good side. Archer really was like two different people blended together and that just seemed to drive the point home that the man had some mental issues.  A fucking psychotic mind. He sure as fuck was going to kill me one day.  I was living out a really weird version of my worse fear, and I was actually kind of proud of myself. Considering everything, I was pretty damn calm most of the time.  I wasn't a petrified statue on the verge of its heart exploding.  Maybe this meant I finally overcame the fear. Too bad that I was still going to die.

~

"Alright Dan my boy, today is the day."

We were in motel number three today. Archer stood at the foot of my bed holding up a short dark gray skirt and wiggled it in his hand with a grin before setting it down on the bed with the other articles of clothing he dumped there. A white tanktop, a black button-up lightweight sweater decorated sparsely with simple purple butterflies, a bra...

I was sitting in the middle of the bed in just my boxer shorts, my free arms crossed over my chest, trying to cover as much of myself as I could. Archer had let me stay uncuffed after letting me take a somewhat supervised shower. A very unnerving shower where he made me shave the growing stubble off my face —as well as the hair off my legs.

"Come on, get dressed for me."

"In girls' clothes?" I shot back. I guess I had gradually gotten a bit braver in actually conversing more naturally with my captor.  He was the  _only_  fucking company I had. But I was still very mindful about not saying anything that I thought would set the guy off.

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Come on, you'll look pretty," Archer chuckled.

"Why do you want me to?" This dress me up thing was making me very fucking nervous.

"Because I need you to be wearing a disguise when you help me rob the bank downtown, sugar." 

"......What?"  
  
  


 


End file.
